New Deep
by Chroix
Summary: FA Six ways in which Angelina Johnson and Fred Weasely saved one another.
1. i

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all of it's components, including characters are property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers Inc. No money is being made and no trademark infringement is intended. All lyrics are credited. Title taken from song on a John Mayer album.

Summary: Six ways that Angelina Johnson and Fred Weasely savedone-another.

Author's Note: This is _very _PWP. If you're looking for a juicy plot, then go elsewhere. I wrote this fic specifically so I could develop the relationship between this two semi-minor characters. Expect at least six chapters.

_Tonight I'll dream while in my bed  
when silly thoughts go through my head  
about the bugs and alphabet  
and when I wake tomorrow I'll bet  
that you and I will walk together again  
cause I can tell that we are going to be friends_

- We're going to be friends, The White Stripes.

**i.**

In first year, in that small, cramped compartment that smelt of chocolate and singed hair, she had sat beside him, staring curiously at the struggling dragonfly in his palm. It was a dark shiny green and it contrasted fearfully with the pallor of the slim palm of the young boy.

"What's happened to the poor bugger?" His twin had asked, looking curious and frighteningly like him. A shock of bright hair fell sheepishly into his eyes, and was impatiently pushed away.

"I bet some Slytherin toads tortured it," the boy had said, and she had looked at him because she had heard a sudden sadness in his soft voice, the profile of his face soft with freckles, and fresh, she thought, like he had just been scrubbed clean. He had the look of someone who had not had an easy life, but didn't really notice. The dimpled corner of his mouth said, hello Angelina. Make friends with me.

"Put it out of its misery," Angelina had murmured. They all looked up at her, the two boys who looked the same and another black boy, with big dreadlocks and pretty brown eyes. It was the first time she had spoke since entering the compartment. She felt nervous and her stomach twisted with the dragonfly as she locked eyes with his blue ones, bright and surprised.

"Kill him?" asked the boy. "That's awful." She felt a stab at her heart as she realized he thought her cruel. His dimple had disappeared.

"Well, look," said Angelina, leaning over and pointing at the legs of the fly. "They're broken and bent, and that broken wing? He'll never be able to fly again. He's probably in tons of pain." She had nervously pulled at a dark pigtail."And suffering," she added.

There was silence and then, "I reckon she's right, Fred," said his twin. Fred-- that was his name. She briefly wondered if it was short for Frederick and if his mother had called him Freddy; the twin spoke again. "I think you should do it."

The boy with the dreads finally said, "I'll do it if you're scared, Fred."

"Rubbish," he had answered quickly, "I'm not afraid of anything."

But she saw the fear behind his eyes and the hesitation. His palm shook. He stood up and gently placed the dragonfly on the floor, it's tiny, shiny body still writhing. Fred had closed his eyes, his small fists clenched at his side and freckled cheeks drained of colour. His clothes were too big for him; a too-large dark green jumper and jeans with holes that gathered over the top of his beaten shoes. She thought him to be extraordinary.

She closed her eyes-- the vague outlines of the three boys dancing against her eyelids like shadows from a dream, the stomping of a foot and the inaudible crushing of the fly came. She opened them, only to find Fred against the wall of the compartment, and his twin with his foot over the fly.

"I was going to do it," Fred whispered, face flushed from embarrassment and surprise.

"Well, you were taking to bloody long," his twin had said. Angelina didn't look down at what was left of the insect on the floor.

Later, as they got off the train, she felt someone tug at her robe-sleeve. Turning, she saw Fred, his pale face and hair bright against the sea of black robes moving behind him. The people parted around them, but Angelina barely noticed, subconsciously transfixed at the dark blue eyes regarding her.

"What's your name?" he asked, his voice barely audible and coming from a very small body.

"Angelina Johnson," she said. She touched one of her braids. "Fred, yeah?"

"Yeah-- I mean, yes, Fred Weasely." He looked extremely uncomfortable.

She paused. They were going to get left behind. A large figure in the distance was shouting _firs' years' this way, then_ and the last thing she wanted was to get lost.

"It's nice to meet you, Fred, but we'd better go," she smiled, holding out her hand and cocking her head. Surprised more at her own nerve than the fact that he actually took her hand, she bit her lip as they walked. There was the low rumble of the crowd of first years ahead of them, and the louder sound of their trainers on the pebbles.

They reached the boats and Fred let go of her hand, perhaps before his brother and the other boy could see. She stared at the looming castle ahead and briefly pondered the next seven years. But like the clouds over the lake they were soon gliding on, they were impossible to predict.

The river glowing in moonlight and anticipation, in the ripples of the water underneath the boat, his soft voice floated to her ears, and "You'll see Angelina, I'm actually really very brave," was just barely heard. She looked over her shoulder at him but his dark eyes were directed at the gleaming castle ahead and his future.

She looked over the edge of the boat at their wavering reflections and smiled.


	2. ii

_Oh, my life,  
Is changing every day,  
In every possible way.  
And oh, my dreams,  
It's never quite as it seems,  
'Cause you're a dream to me._

- The Cranberries, Dreams.

**ii.**

In her second year at Hogwarts, she had grinned with Katie Bell at the hastily-scrawled posting in the Gryffindor common room.

_Positions currently available on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team: One beater, two chasers. Please try out on Saturday morning, September the twenty-first at 7:30 am. Good luck and no charmed brooms (Richard that means YOU) - Charles Rice, captain. _

Katie beamed at Angelina, showing her white chiclet teeth. They spoke in hushed whispers and behind their hands over their potions assignment on the couch that night, giggling and virtually vibrating with excitement. The pale girl had bright, winter green eyes and a smattering of freckles across her button nose, in constellations, Angelina thought dizzily. Her pin-straight auburn hair fell past her shoulders in a shower of dark, shiny and glittering. Angelina was instantly jealous the moment she had laid eyes on her.

"But of course we'll try out for chaser positions, won't we, Angelina?" She sniffed at the twins and Lee, who were laughing. "We'll make it, too."

Angelina bit her lip when George said, "Please. They rarely ever let second-years on the team. What makes you think that you two _girls _could ever make the team?"

He grinned wickedly, and Angelina knew that he had only said that to get a rise out of Katie, whom the entire world knew he had a crush on. But he needn't rely on petty adolescent behaviour; he was very good-looking. Though small and skinny, he had a pretty face and a perfect smile.

"George Weasely," Katie had announced loudly, "you are a tosser."

And then they had laughed, and Angelina looked over at Fred. She did it often, and secretly, because she really didn't wish for Katie, love her as she might, to know.

But no one was paying attention, let alone Fred, who was busy playing Exploding Snap with Lee. While Fred had all of George's handsomeness, there was something about him that set him apart. Perhaps it was the way his right eye crinkled slightly at the corner when he laughed, or that he had a chipped canine tooth on the side of his mouth his parents couldn't afford to fix. But when he smiled widely she could see it, and it gave him a roguish charm that brought her heart sailing to her knees every time she saw it.

"Well," Lee said, "I think Angelina could do it,"

"That's because you're soft on her," Fred said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. Angelina felt herself flush. Over the laughter and Lee's smooth talk on how he and Angelina were destined to be soul mates, she watched Fred never take his eyes off the cards, or smile.

"You don't think I can make it, Weasely?" She had frowned at him. He looked up and she tried to tear her eyes away from his, but as always, it proved impossible. Deep and ridiculously blue, they were the colour of the sky on summer afternoons.

"We'll see, Johnson," he grinned. "I wouldn't put it past you."

But the next week found Angelina standing at the entrance to the quidditch field, gripping her broom tightly, and the September wind whipping her red and gold scarf about her. She tried to take courage from the colours swirling around her; Gryffindor, house of the brave, the same colour of the leaves on the trees and the strands of Fred's hair-- but all she felt in her stomach was a dull buzzing.

Crunching on the grass behind her caused her to turn around. He was running towards her, something grey and knit flapping in his hand. He was just a dark silhouette against the bright morning sun, but she'd recognize that blur of shadow anywhere. He stopped in front of her and held out a pair of worn gloves, grinning awkwardly.

"Er...I thought you might need these. It's cold."

She took them from him, a smile stretching across her lips and pulled them on. Wriggling her fingers in the worn wool, she looked at him. He was picking lint off his thin corduroy jacket, decidedly not looking at her. "Fred," she said. He looked up. Again, she was astounded by the colour of his eyes and how the sun glinted off his red-blond eyelashes.

"Thank you," she murmured, taking his bare hand in her own, glove-less one. His pale hand was freezing in her small dark palm, and she rubbed her thumb over his knuckles. She felt him shiver, and frowned. "You're cold--"

"No, no," he said shaking his head so that strands of crimson-gold flew around him, eyes wide.

There was silence in which he leaned forward. Angelina assumed he was going to whisper something in her ear as they often did during transfiguration, when they thought McGonagall wasn't looking, so she leaned forward. But his lips came into contact with the area under her ear, and she froze, his hand in hers.

His mouth was brief and warm against her cold skin; it was when he pulled away, blushing and murmuring, "Good luck, Angie, I'll be watching," that she realized he had kissed her.

Shaken and trembling from head to toe, her legs moved inch by inch until she entered the quidditch pitch. Katie ran up to her, pale cheeks flushed pink with cold, saying, "Angelina, darling, you look like you've seen Merlin's ghost!"

But mounting that broom and looking up into the small crowd of Gryffindors sitting in the stands to watch the tryouts, she saw Fred, huddled under his slim jacket, pulling on George's scarf and pointing at Angelina. They both grinned down at her, and she couldn't take her eyes off him.

As she rose into the air, her dark eyes still trained on his, she felt a surge of confidence and exhilaration she had never felt in her entire life. The wind ripped through her hair and she could barely see more than strands of dark whipping in her face, but she caught that first quaffle easily, and the rest were easier to come.

It wasn't hard when she had itchy gloves that smelled of Fred to keep her warm.


	3. iii

_If only I don't bend and break  
I'll meet you on the other side  
I'll meet you in the light  
If only I don't suffocate  
I'll meet you in the morning when you wake _

-Keane, Bend & Break.

**iii.**

Third year brought a cold September, and then a colder December; icicles on the ancient window panes of Gryffindor Tower froze in a beautiful pattern that resembled the one on Angelina's best dress robe. The warmest place in the entire tower was sitting in one of the two over-stuffed chairs by the fire, usually roaring, and sinking deeply into the soft pillows that smelled of ash and chestnuts.

Angelina was in horribly sick on Christmas Eve, which found her in the Infirmary, bundled in blankets and grimacing miserably at a vial of potion Madame Pomfrey had left her.

She frowned down at the blankets bunched in her fists, the stark white like a cloud under her dark, shaking palm. Finding it extremely unfair that Katie, Alicia, Fred, George and Lee were probably gathered around the fire, laughing and exchanging chocolate frogs, she pushed the covers off and timidly slid off the bed until her cold feet touched the colder stone floor.

Wrapping her arms around herself and pulling her white robe closer, she walked to the glass window and leaned against the frame, staring out into the raging blizzard. She could vaguely make out Hagrid's hut and a small glow from inside-- probably a fire, the lucky sod.

The white flakes whirled and danced the way a prince would twirl a princess under his arm, spinning and spinning, bright and beautiful against a sky the colour of ink, dark and deep. She thought of her friends up in Gryffindor tower, and wondered if the firelight was dancing on Fred's hair, just as crimson but never as beautiful. She also wondered if the fire was throwing the curves of Alicia's face into soft relief-- would she smile at Fred with her beautiful smile and touch his arm? And then he would blush, make a joke along the lines of _why Ms. Spinnet, I had no idea you felt this way about me_ and they'd stare into each others eyes, and--

A sharp poke in her side brought her from her bitter reverie and spinning around to see who else was in the ward with her.

She came face to face with the one she had just been thinking about; that gentle smile on his face was not directed at Alicia, but at her, and she had never felt more relieved.

"Did I frighten you, Angie?" He asked, his grin holding a little mischief. He had grown, maybe an inch over the summer, and his face was no longer so frail-- there were newfound angles in his jawline and nose, his cheekbones and the curve of his neck. Angelina couldn't wait to explore these new developments with her eyes.

"Yes, you daft git," she laughed, punching him in the arm. She noticed he was holding a plate of Yorkshire pudding, and she even felt her eyes light up. "But you came to see me-- with _pudding_..."

"It's Christmas Eve," he murmured, making himself comfortable on the floor beside the window. He grinned up at her. That smile. "Be a pet and grab that blanket?"

She blushed at the word 'pet' and glared at him, but fetched the blanket anyway. Bundling it in her arms, she sniffled, "What now?"

He patted the ground beside him, not looking up from his work of unwrapping the pudding. His pink tongue was sticking out of the corner of his mouth and his fingers were beginning to smear with the cream. She grinned.

"I'm sick, I hope you know," she said, sitting close (but not too close) beside him, and throwing the blanket over them both. They were leaning with their backs against the window and it was so cold that the glass froze to her, sending a pain right down to her bones. She cried out softly.

"Obviously--oh, cor blimey, Angelina, I'm so sorry!" He pulled her forward and slipped his arm around her shoulder. She had her eyes closed and was coughing, but she could feel his lean arm tight around her and it immediately comforted her, a ribbon of warmth and fireworks along every inch that he touched her. His breath was stirring her hair. "I forgot that these windows are bloody-- here, lean against me." No objections there.

She laughed and nestled her head in the juncture of his neck and shoulder, sniffling. "You planned this, didn't you Weasely?"

"Oh, belt up Johnson," he grinned, taking the spoon out and dipping it in the pudding. It smelled heavenly, and reminded her of Christmas at her house, warm at the dinner table, laughing with her mother, trying to ignore her snotty sister. But she knew that the next time she smelled this dessert, it would remind her of this moment and nothing else.

"Where'd you get it?"

"Nicked it from the kitchens, the elves down there are loads helpful. I was bored, and I said to meself, Why not visit your best friend Angie while she's sick on this stormy night? And so I did. With this pudding, because I know you're hungry."

She stayed silent at this, taking in his words and reveling in the feel of his hand running up and down her arm soothingly, easing the warmth back into her. He smelled of soap and wool from his sweater. From her position she could only see his slim hands, freckled and bony around the knuckles. His nails were bitten. Blood was gathering underneath the nail on his third finger. She briefly wondered how that had happened.

"Such a gentleman," she murmured sleepily. She felt him shift and looked up at him. Their faces were very close, she realized, excruciatingly so. She looked away, and then down at the bowl of pudding. She grinned.

Dipping her finger in the bowl, she brought it to her lips, sticky and sweet, suckling at it. She looked up again to see Fred gazing at her with an intense dark gaze, his lips open slightly. He had never looked so beautiful, and Angelina couldn't handle it. Removing the finger from her mouth with a loud smack, she dipped her finger in the pudding again. She sat up and raised it to his lips, his heavily lidded eyes following her finger.

She saw his pink tongue dart out, and then, success! The goo was smeared on his cheeks and across his nose. He looked positively adorable, and immediately the thick tension was gone from the room.

His face broke out into a surprised grin, and he flung the spoon full of pudding into Angelina's hair. She shrieked and lept up, grabbing a fist full of pudding and plopping it into his hair.

And so the fight began; it was a flash of laughter and sweets, all over her skin, her robe, her hair. At one point Fred shouted, "Angelina Johnson is bollocks," which they both knew was a lie, but irked her either way. It ended with her grabbing him around the shoulders and pulling him to the floor with him. She rolled over on top of him and pinned his arms to his sides with his knees.

He was covered in pudding, smeared in his flame hair, covering his freckles, staining his white t-shirt. His eyes were the brightest thing in the dark infirmary, blue and big and laughing. He was laughing. She twisted his nipple, and laughed at the yelp that made its way out of his mouth.

"Admit defeat, Fred Weasely."

"I do," he said, gasping at the pain.

"Tell me I'm the best,"

"You're bloody _amazing_,"

"Don't resist me, Fred,"

"_Never_,never resist you, blasted--"

She let go of him, and grinned. "Did I hurt you?" His eyes had gone dark with pain and his pale cheeks were flushed scarlet. She leaned forward and her dark thick hair fell around them like a curtain. "I'm sorry."

There was a tense silence in which his beautiful eyes searched hers. Her heart beat against her rib-cage rapidly, she was sure he could hear it, and her palms on either side of his head were clammy and his breath was fanning across her lips, sweet like the pudding and minty like the toothpaste he had just brushed his teeth with.

"I'm okay--" he murmured, looking away briefly and then his eyes flicked back to hers, a puzzle piece sliding into place. "Angelina...I---"

But he was interrupted by the bewildered voice of Madame Pomfrey. "Just what... in Merlins name...is happening here?"

Angelina blushed furiously and scrambled off the boy, pulling her robe tighter around her. "Nothing---I was alone, b-but it's Christmas Eve and Fred...w-welll he brought me pudding, I'm sorry about the mess, I'll--"

"It's my fault, Madame Pomfrey," Fred interrupted, his voice hoarse. He was dusting his trousers from floor dust, and looking for all the world like a fallen angel. "I missed Angelina and I came down to bring her pudding. I'll clean up the mess, and see the headmaster, if you want."

Angelina knew this trick. Offer to see the headmaster and they'd never send him to see his head of house, the very strict Professor McGonagall.

The nurse looked on the verge of tears. "Oh..._you children_," she murmured and pointed at the messy floor with her wand. A quick scourgify later and they were clean as well. "It's Christmas Eve, I can't hold it against you. You should be fine, Angelina, just take the potion with you and take it in the morning and---well, you know the routine." She bustled around the room and put the potion into a little pouch and tied it. Angelina looked at Fred bewilderedly. He just grinned.

"Just _go_." She waved them away. They walked quickly towards the exit. "Oh, and Happy Christmas!" She called, waving lightly.

"Happy Christmas Madame Pomfrey," Fred smiled, and disappeared out the door. Angelina lingered.

"Thank you," she said.

The older witch just smiled sadly. "To be young again," she murmured.

Angelina met Fred outside, smiling and pinching his arm. "That was a nice bit of smooth talking on your part, Weasely."

They walked in silence back to Gryffindor Tower. Angelina's bare feet were cold against the old stone, and as they walked through the dark halls the firelight threw Fred's profile in and out of sharp relief periodically. She smiled, and kept walking.

Upon reaching the portrait of the Fat Lady, Fred let her go in first. She mock-curtsied, rolling her eyes, and went in with Fred smirking behind her. She stood at the bottom of the stairs to the girls' dormitory, her hand on the wall and the other holding his.

"Thank you," she said.

He smiled sleepily at her, his soft hair mussed and his freckles lost in the darkness of the tower. His thumb was rubbing soft circles on her knuckles. She wondered what he was thinking about, but as his eyes searched hers again she remembered the moment before Madame Pomfrey interrupted them. She looked down.

"I'm sorry I, er, twisted your nipple."

He grinned. "No harm done,"

Boldly, she bent down and brushed her lips against his chest where his nipple was, the hard bud damp and foreign through his thin white shirt. Straightened up and looked at him, smiling mischievously. His eyes were wide and surprised, but a smile was dancing near the corner of his lips, where that tantalizing dimple still stood.

"Did I make it better?" She whispered, smiling lazily.

He licked his lips, and grinned. "In that case," he murmured, moving closer, "can I show you this _horrible_ bruise I have on my--"

She brushed past him, laughing softly. "Night, Weasely. Happy Christmas." She tossed from the top of the stairs. Silence, then--

"Happy Christmas, Angelina." She could hear the smile in his beautiful voice.


	4. iv

_We live in a beautiful world--  
Oh, all that I know,  
There's nothing here to run from,  
And there, everybody here's got somebody to lean on._

-Coldplay, We live in a beautiful world.

**iv.**

To say that Fred Weasely had never looked so anguished was an understatement. His eyes were rimmed red and glassy, although she had not seen him crying. His twin looked very much the same-- both of them had their heads buried in their hands, sitting side-by-side, photographic reflections of one-another.

The window behind them was thrown open, the steamy June night sauntering through the window bringing it's starlight and moisture to settle in the middle of the room. There was no midnight breeze.

George stood. His face was as pale as death, his freckles suddenly dark and pronounced. His bright hair was flat on his head. It seemed like every party of his body was deflated, filled with sorrow and anger.

"I'm going to get some fresh air--" he paused, swallowing hard. "Let me know if--"

"We will," Angelina murmured on behalf of Fred, who looked like raising his head would have caused his entire body to shake apart. George bravely attempted a smile but it looked like the facial expression someone would make seconds before bursting into tears. He ducked out of the room.

She slowly got up from her chair and moved to sit on the couch beside Fred. He took his head out of his hands and regarded her wearily. The beautiful blue eyes were muted, their brightness gone, dull and shadowed over and so pained.

"It's my fault," he whispered, voice cracking.

"Don't say rubbish," she hissed, glaring at him.

It had been discovered a little more than two hours ago that the Weasely's youngest and only girl had been taken into the Chamber of Secrets; it seemed impossible that the young redhead would still be alive-- the chances were so slim. Fred agreed with that view because it appeared he was torn between crying and frowning, mourning the loss of his sister or fighting for hope.

"It is," he pressed, straightening up and running his long fingers through his hair. "She tried to tell me something, but I wouldn't listen--" his voice broke. "If only I had been a better brother."

She reached out and placed her hand over his. It was cold and she could feel it tremble, little tremors running through it like the flutter of a butterfly's wing. She imagined his heart was following the same pattern.

"You are a brilliant brother," she whispered. "Ginny told me so."

He looked away, biting his thumb nail awkwardly. She reached over and pulled it away gently. "You're just saying that--"

"No," Angelina interrupted gently. "She told me when she watched you practise two weeks ago-- she adored you," Angelina caught herself and bit her tongue, cursing. "She adores you still."

Angelina remembered the tiny thing that had come up to her during practise to ask if she could watch her brothers. Small and pale but as pretty as Fred was handsome. _Right brilliant beater your brothers are_, Angelina had said. And Ginny had replied timidly, _no one in the world like them. _Her big brown eyes shone in adoration as she watched her older brothers laugh and whoop in the air, cursing and making vulgar gestures at Wood-- but Ginny seemed used to it.

Fred looked at her. His eyes were clouded with tears; it couldn't be helped that a lonely droplet cascaded down his pale face, past the splash of brown freckles on his cheeks to rest on his crimson lips. It left a trail of shimmer.

"Oh Merlin, Angelina--"

He dropped his head onto her neck and she felt tears explode, hot and wet and painful, and they were probably soaking her blouse but how could she possibly be thinking about that when she was cradling his head the way she might a child; sobs wracked his body and he made no noise, only big whooshing gasps of air.

"Shh," she whispered, looking over his head at the empty common room and gazing at the cold fireplace. "There was nothing you could do, Fred, but you can hope--"

He tilted his head to speak, and his moist lips brushed her neck with every movement; were the situation not so dire she would have had a chance to register it.

"Do you think she's alive, Angelina?" He gazed up at her with ink-blue eyes, glassy and wretched. "Be honest, I want to know."

She paused, running her long fingers through the strands of his hair, and looked away. "Fred..."

"Angelina, look at me, _please_," and there was so much desperation in his voice she felt a stab of pain go through her heart.

"I am, Fred,"

He swallowed and licked his drying lips. "Do you?"

She sighed. "I think that anything is possible-- there's still hope, there will always be...we don't even know what's happening to her, we've automatically assumed the worst, perhaps--" she broke off. He was looking at her with a passionate hunger, hungry for the words that would take his hurt away. But false hope was no hope at all.

"I think she is strong," Angelina finished. "And that is all I can say for sure."

He nodded slowly; she knew that he hated being patronized. She took her hands away from his hair and wiped his tears away with her thumb, dabbing at the corners of his eyes with her knuckles. He blinked and his blue eyes appeared again, tired and weary.

"Hold on to hope, Fred," she whispered. Her palm brushed his mouth as she dried his cheeks and he kissed it, a brief flutter of a kiss. She looked down at him sadly, tears gleaming off of his pale eyelashes, painting them the darkest gold.

"I will," he murmured.

Hours later, when George burst through the door of the tower, whooping and shouting for all of the sleeping Gryffindors to hear that Ginny was not only alive but well, he had rushed over to Fred's sleeping form and dragged him off the couch. Fred, taking no time to look irritated at having been woken up in such a manner, said _what, what?_ and George had said, _she's alive! She's not hurt, she's--_

But whatever else she was, Angelina had not heard it because Fred was up and running out the portrait hole with George, not casting a glance back.

Angelina had grinned to herself in her curled position on the over-stuffed chair and closed her eyes; she dreamed of little girls with red-hair and a familiar sleeping silhouette on the couch.


	5. Brief Note

**Hello, readers & reviewers,**

As many and most of you know, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince came out a couple a days ago. I've read HBP and after much deliberation have decided to continue with _New Deep_, seeing as HBP has not made it an Alternate Universe.

Many of you have commented on the fact that Katie is not in Angelina's year-- thanks very much and my apologies; I had not researched the issue properly. I will try to keep in accordance to canon, although some of the chapters are already done.

Please continue to review _New Deep_, and I very much plan on a sequel, seeing as I don't think I'm going to end this story in a nice way. Anyway, keep an eye out!

Thanks for your time, reading, and reviews,

Chroix.


	6. v

_All of the things that I want to say just aren't coming out right  
I'm tripping on words--  
You got my head spinning  
I don't know where to go from here._

_-_You & Me, Lifehouse.

**v.**

In fifth year, Angelina was very sick and very tired of being a friend to Fred Weasely.

She started dating Craig Forsythe, a handsome sixth-year bloke in Hufflepuff. He had sloe-green eyes and curly black hair in tight ringlets that cascaded elegantly around his defined face. He had approached her the morning after Gryffindor won the cup, tall and muscular, a perfect smile stretching across his full lips.

_Angelina,_ he had said, _you played magnificently_. She had smiled back, ignoring the giggling of the other girls at the Gryffindor table. _Thank you, Craig_, she had said. _I was wondering if I could talk to you alone for a few minutes?_ He asked, his heavy-lidded eyes searching hers boldly. Resenting the mistrustful look Fred was glaring at him, she said, Of course, Craig.

"Angelina, you lucky creature," Katie had pinched her. "Craig is so dreamy!"

Angelina murmured her agreement, barely looking up from her homework on the table infront of her. It wasn't that Angelina didn't find him dreamy-- it was just that whenever she was kissing Craig she would imagine what it would be like to be kissing lips a bit thinner or running fingers through soft, red hair or being held close to a leaner body; her thoughts always drifted to Fred.

"Dreamy my arsehole," Fred had said meanly. "He's got nothing but muscle between his ears."

He was hunched over his work, copper hair falling into his bored eyes, long fingers curled around a shoddy quill. Angelina had been disregarding these comments for five months now.

"Yes, because your tart girlfriend is awfully bright, too," she had spat from behind clenched teeth.

"Oi, Jean is perfectly fine conversation," he shot back, blue eyes cold underneath tinsel lashes.

"Only because the only time she speaks is to salivate over your freckled arse!"

"Are you having a go at Jean?"

"No, Fred," Angelina growled. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"Hey you two," Lee called from across the room. "Quit rowing."

"I agree," she seethed, closing her books and gathering her parchment. She could feel the blotches of crimson on her cheeks and his pale eyes on her. "I'm going upstairs."

The end of the week found Angelina in her dormitory, head in her hands off the edge of her bed. Katie and Alicia were on either side of her; she could feel them giving worried looks to each other. Katie's slim hand ran up and down Angelina's back soothingly, and through the thin material of her jumper she could feel the long nails. She took shuddering deep breaths.

"I hate him," she whispered around tears.

"We all do," Alicia agreed, taking her hand. "He's a wanker, he's a bloody--"

"He had to tell everyone--" she breathed, wiping her face. "--now everyone knows..."

"Not everyone, love," Katie interrupted gently. "Just the twins and Lee...and they made sure he won't tell anyone else."

"He's got the black eye to prove it," Alicia added.

"He told everyone that matters," Angelina sniffed. "George, and Lee and...oh Merlin, Fred--"

Almost on cue, there was a soft knock on the door. Angelina looked down at herself, at her worn jeans with holes and her wrinkled sweater. She must look a mess, tangled hair and puffy eyes-- she wiped her face one more time and called brokenly to come in.

He walked in, looking pale and worn out, the skin around his knuckles bruised and bleeding. His hair was in tangles as well, it seemed, although how that was possible she'd never understand, when it was fine and soft and every strand seemed to flow.

Leaning against the doorway, hands sheepishly in his pockets, he asked quietly, "Can I get a moment alone?"

Angelina exchanged a quick, significant look with Katie and immediately understanding shone in her emerald eyes. She got up and Alicia followed. Angelina stood and moved to look out the window; she watched out of the corner of her eye as Fred moved away from the door and bit his lip. A sharp click of the lock confirmed they were alone. Her heart hammered against her ribcage. Where to begin?

"Angelina," he said, walking towards her. "I'm-- sorry I lost my temper."

She shook her head, looking down at his shoes. Her fingers worried at her frayed sleeve. "Don't-- I'm not upset, Fred, I just--"

He placed a warm hand on her shoulder and she looked up at him. His face was full of concern and pity and a little bit of betrayal. She couldn't stand it.

"Are you angry?"

"It's your life," he said, smoothing a strand of her ebony hair from her face. "Horses for courses."

"You're a bloody liar, Fred Weasely," she said, trying to smile. It hurt.

He glanced at the floor and at the window, at the bed and at his shoes again-- he was avoiding looking at her. In the fading sunlight that touched every corner of the room, he looked much older than his fifteen years; there was weary wisdom in his eyes and shadows underneath. He took his hand from her shoulder and shoved it into his pocket.

She bit the inside of her cheek. "What did he say?"

"Bugger, Angelina,--"

"Tell me."

He paused and rubbed the back of his neck, looking her in the eyes earnestly. They were so painfully honest, his eyes, deep and full of expression. Right now they were pale in the light that was glinting off the window; sad and hesitant.

"He said it was too bad you dumped him because...because you were a good shag," he finished lamely, obviously twisting the ending to make it less vulgar. She had a pretty good idea of what Craig would have actually said, but didn't press the matter.

Angelina chuckled. "And here I thought Hufflepuffs were supposed to be nice," she murmured.

"Don't joke," said Fred seriously, narrowing his eyes. Dusk flashed indigo on his pale face. He paused for a moment and seemed as though he was carefully planning out his next words. This was somewhat foreign to Angelina, as he always spoke what came to the tip of his tongue; loose and uncontrolled and raw honest.

"Is it true?" he finally asked.

"Yes," she said. She saw his fist clench and a stab of guilty pain went through her. "Are you--?"

"No," he whispered. Taking his hands out of his pockets, he turned and steadied himself against the windowsill. His slim face reflected in the glass, painted breath-takingly into green hills and Scottish sunsets. "Just hurt."

"Why?" She asked boldly.

"Damn it, Angelina," he almost shouted. "You know bloody well why--"

"No, Fred, I don't," she grabbed his arm and spun him to face her. "Because if for some reason it concerns you, you didn't make a point of trying to be involved."

He glared at her. "I care about you."

She frowned. "I know you do. We're best friends."

"No, I mean--" he sighed in frustration, rubbing his slim hands over his face. "I always thought--"

He lowered his hands from his face and regarded her wearily. His eyes were bright and she could see the pulse racing in his neck. So much to say and not enough words in all the world to say them. Should she tell him how she felt-- _Fred I've loved you since I first laid eyes on your tiny freckled face on the train and I love you more each day and when I was withhim all I could thinkof was you in every possible way your face your eyes your hands your neck your mouth your voice--_

"I want you to be happy," he finally said. "Even if it makes me miserable."

"I don't want you to be miserable," she whispered, tears prickling the corners of her eyes.

He moved closer and took her face in his cold hands. He had a callous on his thumb and she could feel it against her wet cheek. His mouth was so close and when she looked up into his eyes she might as well have been touching the sky because that's how blue they were, infinite and clear. She forgot the room around her.

"I won't be miserable as long as you're always my best mate."

She nodded and started to cry, and wrapped her arms around his waist. He let go of her face and looped his arms around her shoulders, resting his head against hers. His breath fanned out on her ear, hot and smelling of treacle. She shivered.

"We'll be okay," he murmured, running his hands down her back soothingly. They were silent for a long time. An owl hooted by the window.

"I hope you gave him a good thumping," she whispered finally, hearing the faint amusement in her own voice.

Fred grinned. "I hope you won't mind that he's not quite so pretty anymore."

_He was never as beautiful as you,_ she wanted to say, but instead, "No," she laughed. "I don't mind."


	7. vi

_A/N: SO sorry this took so damn long. I'm currently in a freezing library in Oakville because I've been shipped out here by my crazed parents. Will try to update more often. Sorry again about all this and thanks for the reviews. Keep them coming, I thrive on them. _

_Let go, jump in.  
Oh well, whatcha waiting for?  
It's alright, 'cause there's beauty in the breakdown.  
Oh, it's so amazing here.  
It's alright --  
'Cause there's beauty in the breakdown._

-Let go, Frou Frou.

**vi.**

In sixth year, the cancellation of the Quidditch Season had left everyone reeling. Angelina's heart twisted painfully at the mere thought of no quidditch for ten months-- the feeling of the patched Quaffle in her hands, the broom uncomfortable but so comforting beneath her. The sharp wind in her hair; the feeling that her lungs could never get enough air. It thrilled her.

The Tri-wizard Tournament was another thing, though.

She had entered her name into the Goblet, hoping that it would give her something to take her mind off the empty space in her life quidditch used to fill. However, a queer twist of fate left Harry and Cedric both Hogwarts contenders, leaving Angelina rejected and shocked, and very, very frightened of a future with absolutely no action and adventure.

Either way, the announcement of the Yule Ball was the last thing on her mind. Who had time for such silly things, anyway-- maybe those feminine girls with big bright eyes and button noses, who would whisper about their choice of robes (most that she'd heard were frilly and pink, so far,) and their dream dates.

It was enough to make her sick.

"Can you believe those birds?" Angelina asked, frowning as she walked down the hall with Katie and Alicia, passing a group of giggling Hufflepuffs. "It's just a bloody dance."

Katie exchanged nervous looks with Alicia and Angelina looked over at them, narrowly avoiding a Ravenclaw running down the hall.

"What?"

"Well," Katie began, twirling smooth hair between her fingers. "We're slightly excited as well."

"Oh bollocks," Angelina rolled her eyes.

"No, really," Alicia grinned. "I'm looking forward to wearing dress robes and getting out of these uniforms." She adjusted the strap of her bag. "You know, maybe get some attention from the blokes?"

Angelina knew that Alicia got more than enough attention from the boys—she was slender and well-curved, a beautiful silhouette that immediately turned heads when she sauntered into a room. She had blue eyes much paler than Fred's but equally as beautiful; she was stunning in the simplest sense of the word.

"I suppose," Angelina said thoughtfully, pursing her lips. She had never really thought about it that way before. Perhaps if she bought a really mind-blowing dress— No. Enough of that.

"You'll see, you'll get excited soon enough," Katie said wisely, green eyes amused.

Sure enough, Angelina did start to feel a thrum adrenaline a couple of weeks before the Ball. She blamed it on boredom—the school had absolutely nothing to do except watch the Tri-wizard Tournament unfold.

"Has anyone asked you yet?" Alicia asked from her place by the fire, the flickering flames turning her pale skin to gold and dancing magically across her blond hair.

"No," Angelina murmured, picking at a loose thread on the sleeve of her shirt. She felt extremely self-conscious at the question. Alicia and Katie both already had dates.

There was a silence. "Why don't you ask him?" She whispered, leaning forward.

"You're mad if you think I would," she glared her.

"Oi, Angelina!"

She turned at the sound of his familiar voice and found him looking at her with a mixture of mischief and hope. His scarlet hair was mussed about his head and his cobalt eyes were amused. George, Harry, Hermione, and Ron, (who was for some reason staring at her in a bit of awe, his ears singed) were sitting around him, looking at her expectantly.

"What?" she called across the room, slightly nervous.

"Want to come to the ball with me?"

To say she was surprised was an understatement. To say that her heart had just skipped a beat was a bigger one.

Instead of shouting out, _Bloody hell I will,_ as was on the tip of her tongue, she forced herself give him an evaluating sort of look, her eyes bored. Herglance traveled from his slim crimson lips, to his freckled nose, to the high cheekbones, to his golden eyelashes.

"Alright, then," she called back, holding his gaze for a split second before turning back to Alicia, trying to hold back a grin. Alicia on the other hand, was having none of it and was smiling like her birthday had come early.

The night of the Yule Ball came with a bang, the Weird Sisters taking Hogwarts by storm. There was an excited buzz that fell over the crowd of dancers and diners, except for possibly Harry Potter and Ron Weasely, who looked like they'd rather be at their own funerals.

As a slow song ended, Fred took his warm hands from her waist and gripped her hand tightly. The fast-paced drumming of the new song pumped through her veins and she could feel the pulse in his wrist beating in time with the music.

"Let's show these kids how to dance, Angie," he grinned, freckled face flushed.

Angelina and Fred danced the night away, literally. Time flew by as she was twirled under his arm and dipped over it. Her feet were aching in her high white heels but that didn't stop her from spinning them to the music with Fred. A small crowd had parted to watch them and she couldn't say she blamed them. Fred was a sight in his dark robes, slim and agile, his bright hair flying about his laughing face. With every spin his robe fluttered, giving the girls a glimpse of the white dress shirt that was matted tightly to his body with sweat—it was safe to say Angelina was the envy of many of the girls there.

Towards the end of the night, Fred had floated off with George (who had only danced the slow dances with Katie) to harass a man in a dark suit. She didn't mind the break from the dancing—her heart was thumping painfully and her legs were shaking. Fred's cologne lingered faintly in the air around her.

"Look at you, twinkle-toes," Katie had laughed. "You and Fred were quite spectacular, I must say,"

Angelina shrugged, smiling. "I like to dance."

"Are you and Fred…?"

"No," she answered quickly. "Don't be thick. We're best mates."

"Yes," she retorted stubbornly. "And I'm shagging Dumbledore."

Angelina grinned. "Blimey, that's a hot piece of ancient arse."

"Who's a hot piece of ancient arse?" George asked, coming up behind Katie and pulling gently on a curl piled high atop her head.

They looked put out, and Fred had a slight scowl on his face, his eyes dark.

The Ball was coming to a close it seemed; no one was dancing anymore, just chatting tiredly. Some were yawning. Many were leaving. The air in the great hall was thick with sweat and fragrance, and the candles that lit the room were dimming.

"Are you ladies ready to go?" Fred asked, his voice hoarse.

They nodded and stood, Angelina wincing as her bare feet touched the floor. Her heels were dangling by the straps from her fingers, satin smooth and glinting in the starlight of the enchanted ceiling.

Katie and George walked in front of him, arm-in-arm and laughing softly. They were quiet when they were together, the only time that boy ever was. In the fading light they looked like a painting—romantic and beautiful and ancient.

"Angelina," Fred whispered, breaking her out of her thoughts.

"Yes?"

"I think we should go flying," he said, voice low. There was that mischievous look in his eye that made her heart pound in excitement. "Right now."

She grinned. "In our fancy clothes?"

He grinned and grabbed her hand, pulling her out of Katie and George's shadow and down the hallway away from the Gryffindor Tower.

"Do you object?" He asked, looking away from her and carefully around a dark corner. She laughed.

He turned back to her, beautiful face wiped of the unusual scowl and full of crazy youth. "You know I wouldn't," she grinned.

They both needed this, she thought, they needed the wind whipping through their hair and a tight grip on a smooth broom handle; they needed open space and stars and night and freedom.

They softly pushed open the door at the entrance of the school and ran across the grounds. The snow crunched under Angelina's bare feet but the sting of cold was a welcome relief against her aching toes. She looked behind them as their footprints led them farther away from the school which loomed darkly against sky that was the colour of Fred's eyes, dotted with silver stars.

They reached the quidditch field, laughing and gasping for breath. Angelina fell into the snow and threw her arms over her head, smiling, and closed her eyes. She heard Fred fumbling with the lock of the quidditch shed.

"Angelina," he said, and she opened her eyes to find him standing above her. He was a beautiful sight, like a fallen angel on her deathbed, off to take her to a heaven of endless sky and fast music.

He regarded her for a moment or two of silence, his arms crossed over his chest. He was smiling only slightly.

"What are you staring at, you great prat?"

"You," he said softly.

She felt heat rise to her cheeks at the intimacy in his voice—soft and gentle and rough; for her ears only.

"What?" she breathed.

"Your dress looks like part of the snow." He grinned. "Have I told you that you look beautiful tonight?"

The snow that was soaking through the thin material of her dress was forgotten as she suddenly felt her entire body go hot. He was looking at her with a smile on his face but his eyes were smoldering, or as close to smoldering as she had ever seen them, at least.

"Just tonight?" she asked, trying to be cheeky.

"You're a tease, Johnson, I—Cor, are you barefoot?" he asked, eyes wide. He knelt down and grabbed her ankle. She shrieked as his fingers stroked the soles of her feet.

"My shoes were bloody killing me," she said breathlessly as she tried to pull her feet out of his grasp. She burst out laughing when he brushed against the bottom of her feet again.

"Aren't you cold, love?" he asked amusedly, letting go of her slim ankle. "Look, your lovely dress is all wet."

"Belt up, Weasely," she smiled. "Are you complaining?"

"Definitely not," he murmured, standing up and holding his slim hand out to help her. She took it and was easily pulled to her feet. She felt ice water dripping down her neck and threw her head back, gasping.

"Oh, fuck," she breathed, letting go of his hand. "That was uncomfortable."

She looked at Fred, who was staring at her with the strangest expression on his flushed face, his lips parted.

"Shall I fetch you a camera?" She asked, rolling her eyes at him.

He said nothing. Looking away and trudging back over to the shed, he mumbled, "I can't alohamora this lock." He looked over at her. "Can I borrow one of your pins?"

She shrugged and pulled one out of her hair. She felt it tumble down in a heavy weight, damp with water. It was probably starting to curl at the ends. Again, when she looked back up at Fred, he was decidedly staring away from her.

"Here," she said, poking him in the back with it.

"You're an amazon," he laughed and began to pick the lock. His long, slim fingers were curled around the heart-shaped wrought-iron lock tightly.

Five minutes later they had grabbed two brooms, ancient Cleansweeps, from the other locked closet and ran with them outside, giggling like school children.

"I hope we don't get caught," she said childishly.

"Silly Angelina," he murmured softly. "Getting caught is half the fun." With a wink, he kicked off into the sky littered with sparkling diamonds, his black robe billowing out behind him and his arms in the air triumphantly. He let out a scream of happiness and clutched the broom again, spiraling into the night.

She rose into the air, the light layers of her crème-coloured dress flapping around her and hair whipping into her face. She wrapped her slim thighs around the handle and sped off.

When Fred turned on his broom to face her, face alight in a grin so wide she could see the charming canine tooth, she felt her heart swell up, tight and beautiful. In the air again, she hoped that McGonagall and Snape and the entire school could see her, because she'd never had such vitality—

With Fred, she'd never been so alive.


	8. Chapter 8

_To think I might not see those eyes  
Makes it so hard not to cry--  
And as we say our long goodbye  
I nearly do._

_Light up, light up;  
As if you have a choice.  
Even if you cannot hear my voice--  
I'll be right beside you dear._

-Snow Patrol, Run.

**vii.**

Seventh year broke Angelina's heart.

"Alicia!" she shrieked with laughter as the blond girl finished whispering about her date with John Baker, a shy, good-looking Hufflepuff. "You're surely having me on."

"I'm not," Alicia grinned wickedly, showing her pearly teeth in a breathtaking smile. She had her fingers curled around a cup of tea, and was leaning back on her free hand. The moonlight that glinted off the lake defined the edges of her hair into spun-silver. "You know how he's all quiet and calm? Get him alone and he's absolutely--"

"Who's absolutely what?" a voice interrupted amusedly. Angelina immediately sat back and looked away from Alicia, clearing her throat. Lee looked at them with an amused expression on his face, the twins coming up behind him. "What were you two ladies talking about?"

"Nothing," Angelina said calmly, running her hands through her dark hair, flustered. "--and besides, you prats need to mind your own."

It was midnight and all of the graduating seventh-year class was on the grounds, having a bit of a gathering; Dumbledore had agreed, much to Dolores Umbridge's disapproval. Laughing bodies were scattered over the dark grass, and bottles of Butterbeer were clinking to the sound of excited voices.

Angelina looked around, and noticed that even in the laughter of her classmates, an undertone of melancholy could be heard tinkling in their words and movements. This was the end of them, these students who had started as children, wide-eyed and afraid of meeting new people and now clinging onto the friends they've loved for seven years; in the threat of a dark future, looming upon this group who weren't as brave as they all thought they were, boys and girls became uncertain of their lives outside of this sanctuary.

"Any of you ladies fancy a swim, then?" George asked, pulling off his shirt to reveal a slim torso, pale and the same colour of the moon tonight. Shadows were etched into the space between his ribs, dark and beautiful. Fred's body was the same, but the freckles were arranged at different intervals, in different constellations. Also, Fred had a scar that ran parallel to his collar bone; he insisted he had received in when George was sleepwalking and thought he was salami.

"I'm game," Alicia grinned, standing up and undressing. Lee followed suit, as well as Fred. Angelina hesitated when his shirt began to lift over his slim stomach, exposing the hipbones that were peeking out of the top of his dark trousers. She swallowed.

"Come on, Angie," Fred said, smiling cheekily and squeezing her arm. "We've all see each other in our knickers before."

She glared and let him think that's what she was hesitant about. She really didn't give a rat's arse if Fred saw her starkers.

Unbuttoning her cardigan and shaking it off behind her, she bent down to roll up the legs of her trousers as the rest had done. She heard splashing and looked up, grinning as Alicia launched herself into the water after George, the two bodies blurs of white and crimson, her long hair whipping out behind her and catching the moonlight.

"Angelina, I dare say you look rather fit in that white bra of yours," Lee said, smiling charmingly. His dark thick hair fell into his darker eyes, and his chest was slightly more defined than the twins'-- he was a sharp-looking bloke, no arguments there, but it seemed that with her, it always came back to--

"Oi," Fred called as he put Lee into a head-lock from behind, wrestling him to the ground. He had a goofy smile on his face and his eyes were dancing, bright and young in the dark. "Are you trying to pull Angelina?"

They wrestled for a bit more until Lee stumbled a bit too close to the lake and fell in. He was rewarded with a loud splash and roaring laughter.

"The water is f-fucking f-freezing," Lee swore, throwing his head back and shaking his dread-locks out of his face. Fred grinned down at him.

"Should have thought about that before you tried to make a move on my bird, eh?"

She tried not to blush at his comment and came up behind him. She poked him in the small of his back with a sharp nail. The smooth, freckled back turned to reveal a beautiful, smiling face.

"Your bird?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. Her heart sped up in a familiar pattern when she observed that sly smile on his moonlit face, coy and seductive and she really needed to get into that cold water.

"I know you wish you were, love," he smirked, coming forward and slipping his slim arms around her waist. She looked down at his pale skin against her smooth dark side and tried not to shiver; she brought her hands to rest on his arms. "What woman doesn't want to be kissed by these perfect lips or touched by these talented fingers," he whispered, bringing his mouth to her ear, his lips moving against her earlobe, shooting fire straight down her spine to her knees.

"Or fucked by my--"

A swift push to his chest sent him flying off the grass and neatly into the freezing lake. His head resurfaced and he shook the crimson hair out of his eyes, red lips parted in a perfect 'o' at the temperature.

"That should cool you down, Weasely," she smirked.

An hour and a half later, the five soaking bodies dragged themselves out of the lake. They were all dark shadows, dripping pearls of glistening starlight on the shadowed grass; a cool breeze went past, and all of them instinctively shivered, looking for their clothes.

"Blimey, I've got diamond cutters," George murmured through chattering teeth. His dripping hair fell into his eyes as he bent down to retrieve his shoes.

Angelina pulled on her white Hogwarts blouse, frowning as the starched material clung uncomfortably to her body. She shook out her hair and heard several mumbles of annoyance from her surrounding mates. She could feel it curling wildly around her face.

"What time is it?"

"Fuck," Lee swore. "Quarter t' two."

"Are you all ready to head back, then?" Alicia asked, smoothing back her hair. It had turned into gold from the dampness of the water and she had buttoned her shirt unevenly, creating an endearing charm about her.

"Lead me to a warm fire," Angelina smiled.

They walked back in silence, tired and sleepy. She looked up at the moon, so bright and big it blotted out the stars; another breeze went by and she closed her eyes, savouring the feel of freedom and youth, something she knew she couldn't hold on to for much longer.

"Angelina," came a soft voice from behind her. Turning, she gasped as his long fingers attacked her sides and tickled her mercilessly. She fell to the ground, rolling and kicking and shrieking with laughter; he wouldn't stop, just knelt down beside her, crazed smile on his face and his damp hair falling mischievously into his narrowed eyes.

"This-" he said breathlessly, grabbing her ankle and tickling the soles of her feet, ducking her swatting hands. "-is for-" her lungs felt as if they would burst, she was shaking so hard, screams of laughter ripping their way out of her mouth. "-pushing me." Out of the corner of her eye she saw the three of them yards away and shaking their heads. They kept walking.

"Fred," she gasped, thrashing her head on the cold ground. "Fred, please."

"Please what?" he asked innocently, scraping his fingers up and down her side again, rapidly.

"Please stop," she laughed, kicking at him. "Fred, please!"

"I love it when you beg," he grinned coyly, taking his hands away and sitting back on his hands.

She took gasping breaths, savouring air. Glaring at him, she took in his mussed up appearance; his apricot hair wild around his face and his lovely eyes alight with triumph and laughter. His slim chest was rising and falling slowly, pale and speckled in the silver night light, tapering down to his thin waist that disappeared into his dark trousers. She was hopelessly smitten, she realized.

With a noise a little like a war cry, she launched herself at him and knocked him flat on the ground. He let out an indignant yell and rolled over her, pinching her arm. She gasped and he let out a whoop of laughter. She punched him hard in his stomach and he fell beside her, eyes wide; she scrambled on top of him, pinning his arms to his sides with her knees.

"This is familiar," she mused, crossing her arms and smiling down at him.

"Yeah," he said brokenly, head lolling on his shoulder, obviously in pain. "All we need is Pomfrey to catch us."

She reached down and smoothed his hair from his eyes. He looked up at her, amused, the corner of his mouth twitching. He was taking deep breaths and she felt his chest move underneath her.

"I should think," she whispered, feeling bold and tracing his collar bone with his finger, "you'd be apologizing to me by now."

"I should think," he breathed after a moment, "that you'd know what that does to me."

"When you apologize?" She asked, smiling, stroking the hollow at his neck softly.

"No," he said, his smile gone and his eyes intense. "When you touch me."

Her fingers stopped with her heart and she glanced at him. His face was serious but his lips were amused; he shifted underneath her and she pulled her knees off his arms, flushed and shaking.

"Angelina," he murmured, sliding his warm hand slowly up her thigh to rest lightly on her hip. She bit her lip when a slow heat curled in her stomach and a trail of heat burned when his hand touched her. "Let me up."

She nodded and slid off him, but not before she noticed that she had brushed against something hard in his-- _Oh Merlin._

Before she could even look at him, before she even had time to register what had happened, he had sat forward and pulled her underneath him, his arms tightly around her waist.

"Angelina," he said hoarsely, his lips an inch from hers and not close enough. His breath was warm and smelled of pumpkin pastry. She closed her eyes and grasped his shoulders when she felt his arousal on her thigh. "I'm going to kiss you."

She buried her face in his neck, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. "I can't believe you announce things like that."

"I make exceptions for you," he grinned and slipped his hand on her stomach, sliding the buttons on her damp shirt swiftly out of their holes. His bare skin on her stomach made her breath hitch. She looked up at him.

"Fred," she began. He leaned forward slanted his hot mouth against hers, cutting off any coherent sentence that was forming. His soft lips were moist and insistent against hers and against hers they felt like a puzzle piece sliding into place. Her heart jumped into her throat when his tongue ran along her bottom lip and entered her mouth, gentle and sweet. She sighed.

His lips traveled to her ear where he traced his tongue along the shell and she bit her lip. Her hands ran across his bare shoulders to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck. His hand was slowly making it's way up her back and to her bra clasp; he fumbled once and she grinned. He bit her earlobe.

"Don't laugh at me," he said throatily, looking at her, his lips swollen. "You make me nervous."

The grin left her face and she ran her hands down his chest, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the hollow at his throat. She felt a moan go though him and smiled against his neck. She trailed her tongue along his throat as she sat up slowly, Fred moving to accommodate her.

"I want to make you more than nervous," she smiled against his ear, and straddled his lap; she felt his length along her and gasped. Throwing her shirt behind her, she curled her arms around his neck and his slim fingers slid up her back finally undid her clasp. Her bra slid down her shoulders where it was discarded unto the ground.

"Oh, Merlin," she moaned when his hands slid down her back and he pulled her forward, crushing her breasts to his chest.

"Angelina, I need to tell you something," he gasped as her hand slid down his chest to rest on the space above his trousers.

"Why are you talking?" she asked, sealing her lips over his. He sucked on her bottom lip and wrapped his arms tightly around her waist. She felt secure and incredibly hot.

"I'm--" he began, separating their faces with a loud smack. "I'm leaving Hogwarts tomorrow."

Angelina felt like she had been doused with a bucket of cold water.

"What?"

He looked distinctly uncomfortable. His face was flushed and his lips were crimson and swollen, his eyes dark and serious. She could feel his heart pounding against hers, the pulse racing in his neck, under her fingers.

"Me and George, we're-- leaving."

"Tomorrow?" she asked, head spinning.

"Yeah...we're," his voice lowered to an intimate whisper but it was laced with regret. "--dropping out."

"Right," she breathed, taking her arms away from him. "Get your hands off me."

His eyes widened. "No, Angie, please--"

"I said let me go!" She growled, pushing herself away and standing up. She picked up her shirt and quickly pulled it on, her fingers fumbling and shaking. She could feel angry tears burning at the corners of her eyes.

"Don't do this," he said, standing up and grabbing her arm. She yanked it away.

"Let me get this straight," she said, heart pounding uncontrollably. "You're dropping out of Hogwarts tomorrow, leaving me stranded with that horrible Umbridge cow, taking off and pretending like you don't care about me?" She added, "We're friends, I mean."

"Angelina," he said, voice shaking, his eyes burning, fists clenched at his sides. "I would never pretend that I don't care about you, I've always lov--"

"Shut up," she whispered, finishing the buttons on her shirt and finally looking at him. His pants were unzipped and there were bite marks on his neck, his hair in mad disarray. _Fuck him for being so beautiful,_ she thought.

"If you cared you wouldn't be leaving your friends, we- we were supposed to graduate together this year, and--" she broke off, wiping tears from her eyes. "You hate me, you must."

He came forward and grabbed her face, his eyes searching hers, intense and in pain. His thumb awkwardly stroked her cheek, brushing her tears away.

"Angelina, you need to know that I love you," he whispered, bringing his lips to hers and kissing her so deeply and so hard that her eyes fluttered closed and she gripped his forearms so she wouldn't fall. "I would never, ever hurt you," he said against her mouth.

"But you are," she hissed, pulling away. "What were you planning? Fuck me tonight and leave tomorrow? How would that not have hurt me?" She turned away from him. But then-- her heart skipped several beats and she looked back at him. Her vision was going dark.

"Did you just say you loved me?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"Yes," the words tore out of his mouth, his familiar voice so desperate and hurt. "I've always loved you, _always_. Since I second year, when I saw you fly," he brought his hands to her shoulders and pulled her closer. "You're all I think about, you're beautiful and you're all that I want--" he brought his lips down on hers and the gentle touch and his words and his eyes; Angelina felt as though she wanted to die. She flinched away from him.

"I hate you, Fred Weasely," she spat. "I should have known you'd just end up breaking my heart."

"Angelina, _no_--" she heard him say, but it was too late. She was running to the castle as fast as her feet could carry her. The cold wind stung her cheeks and sobs ripped from her throat.

The next day, when Fred and George sped out of Hogwarts, dark robes whipping about their bodies and red hair the colour of the darkening sunset. She had been standing on the steps of Hogwarts, her crimson and gold scarf billowing about her, her heart thudded dully in her chest.

The places where his lips touched her were still burning, his words echoing around her, hollow and painful. _Angelina wait I love you always loved you second year you're beautiful we're leaving tomorrow all I think about dropping out all I want leaving forever--_

Nothing would seem beautiful to her anymore.


End file.
